


heavy

by sylleblossom (kemonomimi)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Developing Relationship, From Crisis Core to Dirge of Cerberus, M/M, Mentioned Aerith Gainsborough, Minor Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough, Not Kingdom Hearts, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers for the old FF7 games, Squall Leonhart being Squall Leonhart, Squall finished his adventure too, Squall's adventures are mostly left out but this is a Cloud comfort fic, The Lifestream (Compilation of FFVII), Tifa Lockhart - Freeform, Took some liberties with post-DoC Cloud, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemonomimi/pseuds/sylleblossom
Summary: cloud is trying, but everything is still so heavy. squall is right up the road, and he decides to share the load.
Relationships: Squall Leonhart/Cloud Strife
Kudos: 22





	heavy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chu/gifts).



> lora said she wanted a fic for her birthday, one where cloud is angstin' as one does and squall just encounters him and is practically psychic and knows what to say to help him break out of his funk as one does.
> 
> well i took that literally.
> 
> lora and i created this universe where squall's world and cloud's world are somehow connected/coincide so it is possible to travel by airship from one to the other, specifically just to write squall/cloud in midgar and balamb garden so that is the alternate universe in which this fic takes place. now add psychics, influenced a little by [LetoaSai's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetoaSai/pseuds/LetoaSai) interpretation of psychic abilities in their kingdom hearts psychic series.
> 
> this time i made cloud and squall's canon adventures happen at the same time, so by the end of doc if they started about the same time, squall's not seventeen anymore, okay, he's legal. don't come for me.

It is only a brief, fleeting touch — fingertips grazing as one cool, condensation slick glass is passed from one patron to another, but it is enough for Squall to momentarily drown in the whirlpool of emotions and images triggered by just that careless touch alone.

He takes a second look at the man just two empty bar stools away nursing hard banora white cider before his gaze drops back to the lime wedges floating pathetically in his gin and tonic. It is sensory overload; it takes him a few sips before he brings himself back into his own head. His shoulder burns, a phantom puncture piercing through skin and muscle cleanly and seamlessly. He feels the pull of gravity as he dangles from the sharp edge of the sword, feels the rip and tear as he wrenches himself free. Cloud Strife.

“Want another one?” The voice is so soft but it carries over the old show tunes humming from a rusty jukebox in the corner and the congratulatory bells and whistles of the arcade machine a few drunken men are using to impress a swaying woman. Squall does not startle, but it is a near thing. Sensory overload.

“Yeah.” Squall’s glass is empty — even the ice is gone, sucked on absently while reliving the pain of another.

In one smooth motion the blond slips over the counter and fumbles his way around the various bottles until he recreates what a brunette woman made moments before at Squall’s request. Just as easily he returns to his seat.

But, this time Squall intentionally covers more of the black leather glove with his own and lets his touch linger for just a moment longer. He has never seen eyes so fluorescent, he thinks, when they mutually break eye contact. Hopefully he did not make the situation awkward by staring too long and touching too much.

It is the same as before but the images are sharper now. He grits his teeth at the force of the migraines that rock his body in shockwaves. Vision glassy, obscured; the brunette bartender and a woman in pink with a long braid bent over patches of pale yellow petals; the ruination of the city whose bones remain on the rim of the city; silver hair and black feathers — he forces himself to take a sip, but the images keep pushing into him like they are men denied water only to stumble upon a oasis — the woman from before, kneeling in prayer; her body lifeless in the water.

Squall chances a glance from the corner of his eye at the blond man nursing a second glass, his bright eyes focusing on swirling the remains of his cup around melting ice instead of sipping it. What had the brunette called him earlier… Cloud? Cloud. He’s Cloud.

Squall jerks, still lost in the visions, as he feels the bubbling of black puss oozing from his arm. Loneliness. Bone-deep sorrow. It is all his fault, it is all his fault — no, it is not. Dilly-dally, shilly-shally. Memories made real again, silver and black.

“You okay?” Squall barely hears the voice this time, his vision blurring when metallic blood fills his mouth. A brush with death again, a shot right through the heart. Everything is white. Nothing hurts. Cool water, sprinkling rain and a tiny lake. Petals floating, drip-drop. A vision of pink and a wave and the pair are gone. Redemption. New flowers, glistening water, an unusually large sword propped against a worn pulpit. Not rusty; the dark-haired ghost would have liked that before he waved goodbye. 

“I’m fine,” Squall manages to reply when he catches his breath. Neon-tainted eyes observe him with guarded concern, but the blond nods and gulps down a mouthful of alcohol.

Squall would be lying if he claimed he does not watch the pale tendons flex, Adam's apple bob, and stray drizzle of liquid drip down Cloud’s neck, but the moment is time frozen and not overlong. Since when does he care enough to dip into anyone’s head? Tonight he cares, apparently. For once his psychoscopy is a boon and not a thorn in his side. The battle is not over yet, but the images are softer now. It is a crisis averted with another at the helm, the weight of the world shrugged from the blond Atlas’ shoulders.

Instead now Squall feels the ghostly echoes of wind on his face, smells petrichor over the hum of a sleek motorbike. Yet there Cloud sits, taking a third glass from the concerned wine-deep eyes and dark furrowed brows of a friend on the other side of the counter, no words exchanged. It still eats at him. He does not think he deserves the happy ending, even if he is no longer lying on the hard ground beside pale yellow flowers and making efforts to communicate with his friends and share his burdens now.

Squall knows all too well that some emotions are not so easily shirked into the care of others even after the passage of time and receptive arms offered again and again and again.

“...Should I offer you a third? Lookin’ woozy.” Squall can hear it now that he knows — heavy emotions behind a dam as Cloud speaks again, his voice carrying louder than before despite no physical change in volume.

“Whatever.” Deliberately Squall keeps his gaze on the wood grains along the counter. “I’ll take a glass of water.” Before Cloud can fetch it himself, the bartender delivers it to Squall with a smile. Good — he should not have prowled into shadows not his own without consent, and another brush of his fingers against Cloud’s would have been too much.

“Quiet company. Stewing in your own head, huh? ...I can relate.” Oh. Cloud is making conversation. He is _trying_. 

They stand on similar ground more than the blond knows. It is safe to bet on the company of another taciturn man. Squall leans his elbow on the bar and rests his chin in his palm, finally providing the excuse to look at Cloud eye-to-eye. “You could say that.” There must be something in his eyes that belays guilty secrets instead of the usual, perfectly-maintained wall of steel, because Cloud’s eyes drift away.

“So what are you?” The question is a little more than a whisper, flat. Squall deserves it, but it stings. A remark from a stranger stings.

He has grown a lot after being shot into _space_.

Instead of answering, Squall keeps his gaze steady. “...You’re wrong and you know it. Survivor’s guilt isn’t worth it.” The brunet sharply turns away. “Nothing’s worth denying yourself an ending you earned and you should appreciate the chance.” It is a blunt remark — okay, maybe he has not grown _that_ much. His tongue is just as sharp and words just as callous.

Cloud’s brows are furrowed and his expression is dark, but he does not hop off the barstool and storm away. Tough love from a friend weighs differently than the words of a stranger, and he has clearly decided to hear out Squall’s input.

“...Some sorta psychic, huh. Just my luck.” Squall is not one-of-kind, but not many make the journey to Edge, from what he recalls.

“I mean it.” His tone brings Cloud’s attention snapping back to him and he feels heat touch the tip of his ears. It should be illegal to be that attractive brooding. Squall coughs to collect himself and blames it on the gin. “You cut off the ribbon but you haven’t let it unravel.” Squall does not see it anymore, the pink armband Cloud wore in his memories. “A connection will stay,” Almost under his breath, dryly he adds, “they don’t fade away. Worn ribbons turn to strings. Old churches still stand. You’re alive, but you’re not living. You’re pretending, for their sakes.” Squall’s head of dark hair jerks towards the busty barmaid doting over a little boy and girl at the opposite end of the bar. “It’s over and you know it.” A nail in the coffin, Squall knows, but it passes through his lips before he can shut it down: “They said goodbye. Take it and go and stop spitting it back in their faces.”

He expects Cloud to leave after that tirade. Maybe he even expects him to throw a punch. But the blond just sits eerily still, staring blue to blue. “You know me just that easily, huh?” There is anger simmering beneath the words, but Squall shrugs his shoulders and takes a sip of his drink. He has already taken the plunge — time to ride the torrential waves.

“Yeah, I do.” Cocky. But flat. Bold. But soft.

For a moment they just stare silently into one another’s faces — past façades and into the innermost depths. Squall feels like his lungs are full of water, but he does not want to break the surface.

Finally the blond exhales through his nose and takes the final sip of his drink. “Never knew it would take a stranger to tell me what I needed to hear. Don’t think anyone’s brave enough.”

“I have nothing to lose; they do.” Squall uses the time Cloud spends to hum his agreement to war with himself, then swallows the whole glass of water in one long chug. “Squall.”

“Huh?”

“Squall. Squall Leonhart. Not a stranger now.” _Now I have something to lose — it’s only fair._

After a few seconds that feel minutes too long, there is a response. “Cloud Strife, but I guess you know that.”

The corner of Squall’s lip quirks upwards. “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to hear it from the source.”

His smirk is returned fleetingly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it little smile. “Guess next time you give me what-for you’ll have somethin’ to lose, huh? _Not a stranger._ ”

“Yeah. Not an equal exchange for it all, but it’s a start.”

He wonders if it is the alcohol padding his brain that perceives Cloud’s long lashes lowering as he closes the distance between their spaces just a little more, or if he just has a sudden bout of wishful thinking.

Funny, how knowing Cloud’s story inside and out makes who was once just a pretty shell sitting two seats over into someone so blindingly bright.

“Don’t worry; while you were gaping I took the opportunity, too.” Oh.

Oh. Is that a good thing? For a moment Squall _almost_ wishes Irvine accompanied him on this trip to Edge.

“Uh.” He replies, brain stuttering, and it earns him a smile that lingers with hesitance, lazily self-satisfied but still shy. “Gaping.” _Embarrassing._

“Covertly. Tifa didn’t notice.” Cloud amends, as if that means anything to Squall at all.

 _Covertly. Okay. Right._ “Good or bad?” Now he is standing on the diving board of a different pool, one toe dipped in the proverbial water. This is flirting, right? His brain has not gone to mush from the three drinks?

“Good. Next time talk to me instead of running through my head, though.”

 _Next time_ echoes in Squall’s ears. “I’d prefer a leisurely stroll,” he drolls back. If there’s a _next time_ and he has contact with Cloud he cannot promise he will not see something or taste his emotions. Psychoscopy is a tricky skill to keep completely controlled.

“Yeah? Have a good view of the stars just past the edge of the city. Grass starting to grow in, makes for a good place to see ‘em.”

Squall swallows, hard.

“Yeah?” He manages to keep his voice mellow.

“That’d make for a leisurely stroll of a different sort.” Gloved fingers tap against the counter like Cloud is nervous.

As if Cloud has anything to be nervous about regarding Squall now. “Stars. Thought I had my fill of them in my lifetime but suddenly I want to see them again. Must be the company.”

They slip off their stools together, mimicking the same slide of wood against wood paneling and both silently make the weaving trip through lively tables to the doors and the fresh air beyond them.

A stroll, huh. It is a start. It is something to lose now that they are not strangers, but his intuition tells him that he is another string wound tight, helping that pink strand finally fall slack and rest.

If he weren’t psychic, Squall would chalk up the gentle _push_ to a strong breeze, but he can feel two sets of hands urging him to reach out and take Cloud’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to linkin park's heavy like eight times today and the lean on me cover by artisanscan about just as much, so i had to birth this mind child while the oven was hot. 
> 
> surprise i still cannot write squall or cloud for shit but i am damn-well trying.
> 
> ahem.
> 
> it's a little early — but happy birthday, lora. here's to many more with a lot of adventures along the way.
> 
> if you came here lookin' for ffxiv-only content, you are at the wrong pseud — catch me at fortemps for that (current project in the works! exciting!) and join [to be wholesomely debauched by emet-selch](https://discord.gg/e6w5Smx). tell 'em fortemps sent ya!  
> also come hang out on twitter: i'm windupzenos.
> 
> is this the start of another series? an au within in au? ionno, time will tell — after i finish to tame a wolf & work more on aborzea.


End file.
